Climbing Up The Walls
by Listzomania
Summary: "And either way you turn, I'll be there. Open up your skull, I'll be there. Climbing up the walls." Dixonne AU [ONESHOT]


"Please could you stop the noise,

I'm trying to get some rest"

** 1956:**

When Daryl was buried, I didn't mourn him. Instead, I walked away from the bleak cemetery with a small smile on my face with my arm wrapped loosely around my husbands. I laughed softly as he whispered sweet and soothing words in my ears. The townspeople frowned as we passed after taking in our depressing clothing, but per usually we turned a blind eye to their disapproval as we always had.

When Daryl was buried, I didn't sell the house. This old rickety place was poorly constructed. The paint was chipping, the shingles were falling from the roof, the pipes leaked, and the floors creaked. But this place was important to Daryl. He would laugh and smile that boyish smile and tell me that this place was special. That this place reminded him of the best moment of his life. I could only laugh at the thought and smile brightly because I know it's true. Rick's frown only deepened as I informed him of my decision not to sell. My husband seemed to be the only one who understood. He kissed my head and told me it was the right decision. It was the best decision. I nodded as I gripped his hand tightly. Rick touches my shoulder locking me in an intense gaze. "Have you been sleeping?"

When Daryl was buried, Andrea's visits became more frequent. Much to my husband's discomfort, her presence would greet us at dawn and linger until the sun was no longer visible. It seemed like a dream to me. Our friendship had withered since I married and she moved to London, but now it seemed the burial had brought us back together. My husband was happy that I was happy, but he informed me that he misses me. I laugh at his silliness and remind him that he never leaves me. Andrea always watches our interactions with questioning glances and sad eyes.

When Daryl was buried, my husband took me dancing. I felt giddy as a schoolgirl because we never did these things. When I told him so, he smiled sadly and told me it was long over due. The room seemed to glow as he lead me to the dance floor and the beauty of the place took my breath away while a smile bloomed on my lips. The floor shuddered under our movements and the wind seemed to dance around us. I close my eyes enjoying the feel of my husbands arms securely around me, but when I open them my son was there. His sea-foam eyes bore into me and a heartbroken smile falls on his lips, "Let's get you to bed, mom."he whispers as he led me to my room. The room that once seemed so bright and beautiful was just the unkept lifeless kitchen.

When Daryl was buried, the sun stopped shining. No one else seemed to notice the grey clouds that invaded the sky or the thunderous noise that they would make. People would barely bat an eye. I gripped my husbands arm tightly as we walked through the shops.

"Honey," I began tentatively, "Do you notice the dreary weather?" He nodded and leaned closer, kissing my temple.

"Don't worry, everything will be fine." he whispered.

His words comforted and wounded me simultaneously. Those words fell bitterly from his lips and ripped my heart from my chest. Those words had been uttered before and everything wasn't fine.

When Daryl was buried, life began decaying around us. The streets were littered with bodies and the citizens lived in fear. A few times the patrol men had been at our door, informing my husband and I of the populace fear due to my "peculiar" behavior. He held me close telling me I wasn't peculiar, that I was just unique. He gripped me tightly when they asked me about Daryl. He screamed at them, verbally dismissing them from the property, but they ignored his cried. They stood there like statues, staring at me stoically while awaiting my response. As I opened my mouth, my son came to the gate. He glared at the cops before ushering me back inside. He sat me down and told me to wait while he handled it. He walked back out to talk to them. I hear nothing but muffled voices, however one sentence seems to pierce my ears, "My mother is not well."

When Daryl was buried, my son and I became closer. The unfortunate burial caused my son to move from his estate in England to be in the rickety old house I refused to leave. He'd leave me just after breakfast to attend to his affairs and return during supper. He never spoke to my husband anymore, only me. Always begging me to leave this place. He frowned at me and took my hand in his, "Mother, you aren't well." he began in a soothing tone, "Please, return to the manor with me. You shouldn't stay here."

I shook my head feverishly, "No!" I exclaimed. "I can't… I can't just leave!"

My son's face turned red and he clenched his jaw. This argument had been going on for months and my answered hadn't changed. He needed to leave soon, he couldn't stay here forever. Each day he grew more and more frustrated at my opposal.

"Why not?!" he cried, his eyes brimming with tears, "He left you! He's not coming back! He's just gone away probably to some other woman!"

My eyes widen and tears streamed down my cheeks. My husband flew to my aid quickly, leading me from the room while glaring daggers at our son. I laid in bed gripping my pillow tightly. "Not true, not true, not true." I repeated to myself softly while my husband rubbed my back. Whispers tingled at the edge of my consciousness as darkness trickled at the edge of my vision, _"you can't deny it forever."_

The nights got more depressing after that. Nightmares gripped me tightly each time my eyes closed. Each time, I lost Daryl right before my eyes. Abandonment became the theme of my dreams until it became true and my husband disappeared. I cried for days, huddled in the bed awaiting his return. He always came back. Why wasn't he back?

"_Stop denying the truth,_" a voice whispered persistently in my ear. I turned my head and sobbed when I realized that nothing was there.

I must have cried myself into a deep sleep because the next thing I know I'm awaken by a thunderous noise and a guttural groan. I rush out of my room and downstairs, however the scene before my eyes halts my movement.

There's Daryl on the ground with a wound in his back. He's gritting his teeth tightly as he struggles to crawl away. Light footsteps penetrate my ears as a blurry figure comes into view. I wiped my eyes fiercely attempting to see them clearly, but all I can see is Daryl. He is swiftly kicked onto his back with a pistol aimed at him. He's mumbling softly, soothing words falling from his lips as he attempts to coax his attacker.

My vision becomes hazy as I hear the revolving of the chamber. My fingers tremble and a force slams against me as a shot rings out. I slam my eyes shut at the sound but the shoot open at the new found weight in my hand.

I see Daryl over the barrel of the gun blood oozing from the fresh wound. I stare at the pistol stunned before flinging the offending object from my hand letting out a surprised cry.

"Daryl," I croak out as I fall to my knees and scamper close to him.

"Chonne," he gurgles out, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. I move his head in my lap while putting pressure on his wound.

"What did I do, What did I do?" I cry, tears streaming down my cheeks. I can't lose him. I can't.

He sooths me softly, "It's okay Chonne," he pacifies, "Everything is going to be fine."

I shake my head quickly, "It's not okay. None of this is okay!" I exclaim. "Help! HELP!" I scream in hopes that my noisy neighbors will hear me. Daryl brings a shaky hand to my lips.

"Don't" he pushes out, "they'll….hang… you….for...this…"

My tears splatter on his face, "I don't care. I don't…. I can't…" I explain poorly. "I can't live without you Daryl."

That boyish smile graces his features, shielding me from the pain that he's in. His eyes cloud as he whispers softly, "I'll always be with you."

My lips tremble as the his breathing slows, "I love you." I whisper, "I love you so much."

His eyes glaze over with tears, "I love you more, Chonne."

I rock back and forth with him in my arms. "Don't leave, don't leave, don't leave." I mumble repeatedly.

Daryl inhales deeply, "I won't." he whispered before his eyes fluttered shut. I gripped him tightly as his breathing ceased and as my sobs echoed through the house.

When I met Daryl, he was visiting his brother at the sanatorium. We bonded over an old painting of a broken-down building that hung on the wall. When the nurse came to take me away, I knew I'd be seeing those pretty cerulean eyes again.

When Daryl started courting me, I was stunned. Amazing that someone of my race and mentality attracted him. I shook my head parroting all the diagnosis my doctor had given me but that boyish grin returned. He took my hand and rubbed his thumb along my skin.

"You're just unique," he said.

I could only smile at the words that had infected my soul.

When I first attacked Daryl, we had been dating for six months. I had stabbed him with a pen. The reason still remains unknown to me. All I can recall is his soothing voice and the orderlies restraining me. My doctor changed my medication then.

When Daryl married me almost everyone opposed it. They said I was dangerous, that I should be locked up. But Daryl never agreed. Rick stood by his decision, warning him to be careful and to keep an eye on my intake. Andrea was furious. She yelled and screamed, telling me I was being selfish and that no good would come of this.

I should've listened.

The second time I attacked Daryl our son was seven years old. I slammed a bottle on his head and panicked when it shattered. There were no soft comforting words at this time. Only Daryl nursing his wound and calmly reprimanding me about my medication.

"Yew gotta take your medication honey," he stated, "They'll take you away if you dont."

I could only nod and let him hold me as apologies tumbled from my lips.

The third time was when our son left home for to continue his studies. The fourth time was when his brother escapes rehab. The fifth time is when our son refuses to come home for the holidays. And the sixth time is when I kill my husband.

Daryl and I had almost thirty years together. And as I feel those muscular arms wrap around my waist and that woodsy scent flood my senses, I knew we would have thirty more.

When Daryl died, I didn't mourn him. Why would I mourn someone who was never gone?

"I slipped away

I slipped on a little white lie..."

~Fin

Music that inspired : Radiohead's Climbing Up the Walls, Paranoid Android, Kid A


End file.
